


Outside

by proval



Series: Southside Forever [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Gap Filler, Guns, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Illegal Activities, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not compliant with deleted scenes, PTSD-like symptoms, Past Abuse, Praise Kink, Season/Series 10, s10e06, s10e07, s10e08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proval/pseuds/proval
Summary: It’s good. Of course it’s fucking good. Being back in Ian’s arms, tasting his mouth again. Ian cleaning up Mickey’s wounds. Getting fucked again, fast and hard, like when they were kids and Mickey had just got out of juvie, except this time with the good lube. And Ian knows Mickey’s body even better, knows his head, knows what fucks Mickey up. And Mickey knows Ian too, knows how to get his favourite moans. And back then Ian had never murmured in his ear over and over "I can’t believe you’re out". And then getting fucked again in the shower. Slower, sweeter, like that summer they lived in the Milkovich house together. Like all those times in prison, except this time they were outside, without cockblocking COs or Enzo complaining or Mickey kicking off. And it’s been so long since they got to fuck like this, since they got to hold each other without worrying about any of that shit, that Mickey forgets about the cartel and Ian’s PO, and the fact that he’s a Milkovich and that beautiful things don’t last, and that he’s never managed to be with Ian long enough.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Southside Forever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767688
Comments: 21
Kudos: 201





	Outside

_“And it’s a beautiful Friday in Illinois. Put on your sunscreen folks and tell your boss you’re taking the afternoon off...”_

The voice on Larry’s chipper radio program fades into warm bass and beats, low and mellow, a static-filled folk melody. They’re not too far from Irving Park. Mickey wets his lips. It’s becoming more real. He can feel his heartbeat, can feel the breeze from the slit in the window in his hair, lightly stinging his eyes. He’s older now. He’s so much older than when he was last in Chicago. 

“So, Mr Milkovich, feeling a bit less jittery? It’s totally normal to find readjustment difficult. Think of me as someone here to help smooth the transition.” 

Mickey had kind of forgotten Seaver was there, coming back to earth at the sound of his voice. 

“It’s Mickey.” He says, for the second time, maybe. He can’t remember. 

“Apologies Mickey.” Larry taps the steering wheel cheerfully. “So, here we go. Back in the city. Now, I don’t want to rush you but state law says you need to be in work sharpish. Any ideas what you might like to do?” 

Mickey looks over at him. He hasn’t had time to think about this shit and it probably shows. Larry slows down for a red light.

“Not a problem. I’m always at the end of a phone. If you have a résumé, perfect. If not, we can improvise.” 

Mickey blinks at him. Wonders how many of Seaver’s parolees don’t say shit just like him. Wonders how many feel the same way he does about Seaver. Dressed up a little nicer maybe, a little more of a suck up, but the same as any PO, not to be fucking trusted. Mickey’s not banking he won’t get set up with a job that’s shitty as fuck. He’ll be meat packing or working at some food processing plant. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll get to work in sanitation. Oh fuck. Well just in case. 

“I don’t have any of that shit but I used to work security.” 

Seaver’s eyes light up. “Security?” Mickey bites down on his lip. “I might be help to help you there Mr Milkovich.” 

It’s tiring listening to Seaver try so hard so Mickey’s glad when he turns the radio back up. It becomes a little more real again as they exit the interstate. 

Just before he left, back in the joint, they’d asked Mickey for his new permanent residence. He couldn’t explain it was a person not a place. 

Mickey goes to him. 

*

“It’s a long story, ends with all you can eat tamales. Come here.” 

It’s good. Of course it’s fucking good. Being back in Ian’s arms, tasting his mouth again. Ian cleaning up Mickey’s wounds. Getting fucked again, fast and hard, like when they were kids and Mickey had just got out of juvie, except this time with the good lube. And Ian knows Mickey’s body even better, knows his head, knows what fucks Mickey up. And Mickey knows Ian too, knows how to get his favourite moans. And back then Ian had never murmured in his ear over and over _I can’t believe you’re out_. And then getting fucked again in the shower. Slower, sweeter, like that summer they lived in the Milkovich house together. Like all those times in prison, except this time they were outside, without cockblocking COs or Enzo complaining or Mickey kicking off. And it’s been so long since they got to fuck like this, since they got to hold each other without worrying about any of that shit, that Mickey forgets about the cartel and Ian’s PO, and the fact that he’s a Milkovich and that beautiful things don’t last, and that he’s never managed to be with Ian for long enough. 

*

Sure enough, Paula comes and takes Ian away, and Mickey’s nerves skyrocket again. Ian wasn’t kidding about her being a psycho. And Mickey’s left, waiting, surrounded by a bunch of Mexicans and Lip’s relationship drama. 

Lip doesn’t seem surprised that Mickey’s here. And he’s pretty easy going when Mickey asks if he’s got a smoke, giving him a whole pack and saying he’s trying to quit. Maybe having that kid mellowed Lip out. His baby mama’s not mellow at all though, and Mickey kind of bristles at her (Tami was it?) calling him some convict Ian brought home. But he can’t argue. That’s pretty much it. And he just wants to use the bathroom. 

His phone buzzes. It’s not Ian though. It’s fucking Seaver already. 

_Think I might have found you a great job opportunity! I’ll confirm in the morning._

Jesus. Larry is next level keen. Mickey pockets his phone and fucking finally gets to the top of the line. 

* 

Liam’s on the couch doing homework when Mickey gets down. He looks a lot older than he did last time Mickey saw him. It’s weird, knowing that Mickey remembers Liam but Liam probably doesn’t remember Mickey. 

But when Mickey comes back with a beer Liam notices him. “Hi Mickey.” 

Fuck. Mickey isn’t even sure he’s heard him talk before. 

“You remember me?” He pops open the beer, taking the smokes out of his pocket.

“Sure.” Liam says, easily. “It’s not like Ian’s shut up about you since getting out anyways.” 

_Really?_ Ian usually keeps his cards pretty close to his chest with his family. And damn, it makes Mickey start to blush. Shouldn’t Ian be back by now though?

“You see him come in?” 

“No. Why?” It’s weirdly easy to talk to Liam, as though they’d always been talking like this. 

“He’s been off with his bitch PO for ages, man. She’s mad at him because he tried to help a pregnant lady. She’s got some fucked up insurance scam going on.” 

Liam sighs. “Great. So now I get why the rate of reoffending’s so high in Illinois.” 

Fuck, Mickey likes Liam. He needs a smoke though, and he needs to sort some shit out too, so he heads out to the front porch. 

It’s getting dark outside. Once he’s sat down he has a sip of beer. Fuck it tastes good. Fuck he’s missed beer. He lights up too. He’s got to be calmer for this next thing. He wishes Ian was back for the hundredth time. 

He knows Mandy’s still out of town but he’s surprised that he finds Sandy’s number on his phone. And then he’s even more surprised when she picks up, says “Hey, Mickey, feel good to be free?” like she’s around and in the loop. 

“Yeah I’m not exactly free. I’m on fucking parole still.” 

“Not coming home? We can celebrate. I’m staying at your dads. Mom kicked me out again so she and Uncle Jerry can inbreed.” 

Mickey doesn’t plan on going back to the Milkovich house for a number of reasons. 1. The cartel’s more likely to find him there than here. Everyone in the fucking neighbourhood knows that house, knows who it belongs to. 2. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t want to go back to that space. It’ll feel like he’s regressed or some shit. And 3. if he’s honest, the idea makes him feel slightly panicked, like he can’t breathe or something, like the walls are closing in on him, like something terrible’s about to happen. 

It was so easy to tell Seaver he’s going to be staying here. 

He takes a drag of his smoke. “Not my fucking home.”

“You at the Gallaghers?” 

“Listen, can you not tell dad --”

“I think he fucking knows Mickey.”

“The fuck?” 

“Danny Shevchenko told Colin you got out of the joint, and everyone knows you been banging Gallagher in there.” 

“ _Fuck._ ” 

But then again if that was true, his dad was still sending him work inside, so maybe his dad doesn’t give a shit anymore? The thought is dumb as fuck because Mickey knows his dad’s rules for inside banging and outside banging are inconsistent as hell but it still sends a spring of raw hope to his heart. He pushes it down and away, feeling like a pussy. His dad’s plenty happy to use Mickey any way he can. 

“Can you bring me my shit over?” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll come over tomorrow morning. What dyou need?” 

“Just whatever the fuck’s there.” 

He’s tempted to ask her to bring him some guns too. He knows he’s going to need something especially if the cartel tracks him down but for some reason he finds himself holding off, like he wants to separate himself even more from the shit that happens at the Milkoviches, like some kind of unfamiliar yearning for a normality he never got to have, or like Seaver’s fucking rubbed off on him already despite Mickey’s best efforts. Maybe it’s not the worst thing not to be handling unregistered firearms the day after he’s been released? Mickey lives in the real world though. He can get himself a gun later. 

“That’s my fucking razor Colin!” Sandy interrupts his thinking, obviously distracted. “Mickey, I gotta go kill your _asshole_ brother. See you tomorrow.”

She hangs up, and Mickey takes a steadying sip of his beer. When he finishes his smoke, he lights a new one up, hoping Ian’ll be back any moment. It’s fucking dark now. 

*

Ian doesn’t say anything when he gets back. He just goes up the stairs and closes the bathroom door in Mickey’s face. And locks it before Mickey can touch the handle. 

Mickey bangs at the door. “Ian, what the fuck?” 

Ian just turns the shower on and the spray is loud, almost drowning out Mickey’s “Well fuck you too.” And totally muffling his quieter “ _Shit_ ”. 

Mickey’s hand stills. His fingers press into his palm. His bottom lip folds into his mouth. 

It’s weird. It’s strange to Mickey who’s used to Ian everywhere in his space or nowhere at all. But it’s a familiar feeling too, the sinking in his gut. 

_We need some fucking space, Mickey._

No, it’s not even that, it’s 

_Leave me alone._

Mickey stands there, thinks about breaking the door in. The fuck did she do to him? The shower’s still running, and the quality of sound changes like it’s bouncing off a moving body, like Ian’s actually washing himself in there. Mickey waits. 

He breathes. He can hear a bottle of shower gel or shampoo or something opening, squeezing, closing. And he smells it too. It’s minty and he remembers it. He knows it from somewhere deep inside of him. Ian being avoidant. Ian not telling people shit that goes down. He knows he has to give Ian space. He knows he needs to trust Ian to look after himself sometimes. 

But fuck. 

He turns away from the door, fist uncurling slightly, heads down the stairs. Why can’t the fucker say something to him? Liam’s head pokes out over the couch when he gets to the bottom.

“He OK?”

“Fuck knows.” He sounds casual enough but it’s negated by the concerned way he wipes his hand over his mouth. 

“You want to play?” Liam holds up his game controller. 

Mickey nods. “You got Mortal Kombat?” 

He really wants to fuck someone up. 

* 

Ian’s down in thirty-five. There’s constant sizzling and chatter from the kitchen still but Mickey hears him coming down the stairs. He deliberately doesn’t let his eyes leave the screen, presses ultra fucking hard on R2 and X, and pulls Liam’s character’s spine out his chest. 

Liam doesn’t notice. He’s watching his brother. 

Ian settles in at Mickey’s side. Kisses him on the shoulder. And _fuck him_. But OK, that’s nice. 

“Speaking to me now?” Mickey mutters, still not looking at him, somehow. Ian runs a hand up his thigh and breathes out hard. 

Liam looks at the screen again and tosses his controller down. “This game sucks.” Then turns to his brother. “What happened with your PO?” 

Mickey does look at Ian then, raises a pointed eyebrow. Tries not to get distracted by his damp hair and sleepy eyes. The set of his jaw. 

Ian shrugs, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Just your classic intimidation and coercion.” 

“The fuck she do to you?” 

“Don’t want to talk about it now, Mick.” 

Mickey glares at him. He breathes in and out slow. Ian looks tired. “She hurt you?” 

“No. I’m OK.” Ian tugs at his thigh. His voice drops and softens. “Come to bed.” 

Mickey licks his bottom lip, tears his gaze away to where Liam’s rolling his eyes and getting up himself. 

Mickey wants to ask a question but he doesn’t know how it’ll go down. 

Liam walks around the couch and rolls a hand through Ian’s hair before bouncing up the stairs. 

Mickey braves it. “You take your meds tonight?” 

They catch each others’ eyes. There’s just the sound of soft Spanish from the kitchen as they look at each other. Ian looks tired. 

“Yes.” Ian says, suspiciously, a touch of a warning.

It’s not like Mickey hasn’t asked that shit before. Well, obviously a long time ago but also after they got together again. In prison. A couple times at least. 

But Mickey knows it’s still a hard thing for Ian to hear, and even though Mickey’s mad at him he runs his fingers through the hair behind Ian’s ear, and cradles the back of his head. Ian’s shaking, just ever so slightly. Mickey wants to wrap him in his arms.

“OK.” Mickey says, keeping his voice light. “You tell me this shit tomorrow?” 

Ian clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Fine.” 

There are lines around his eyes and his jaw’s tense. He leans down and kisses Mickey again, and the kiss is firm and a bit sharp, a bit rough. 

Mickey pulls away, climbs off the couch, and pulls Ian up by the hand. And Ian lets Mickey lead him up the stairs, push him down into bed, kiss the nape of his neck, and pull the covers around him before Mickey goes to brush his teeth. He gingerly uses the toothbrush he assumes is Ian’s. The one left on the edge of the sink. When he gets back, and strips down to his boxers, he can tell Ian’s been waiting for him. Ian’s body settles, the muscles in his shoulders relax, as soon as Mickey puts his arms around him.

Mickey can feel Ian’s abs move under his hand when Ian lets out a quiet laugh. 

“What?” Mickey’s voice is soft.

Ian turns round to face him. He’s quiet too. “You just got out today. Should be me looking after you.” 

Mickey blinks. Time goes by so weirdly sometimes. “Doesn’t feel like the same fucking day.” 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” His hand trails up Mickey’s arm. “Thought I’d have to wait so much longer.” 

Mickey smiles. But he is asking. He does want to know. “So, you miss me then?” 

Ian smiles back, shakes his head slightly, his hand’s at Mickey’s neck now, running up to his jaw. “Yes.” It comes out firm. Serious. He thumbs around Mickey’s lips. “I love you.”

Mickey catches Ian’s thumb in his mouth, sucks the tip for a moment, watches Ian. He’s too fucking stubborn sometimes. Even when he’s tired and scared he’s so beautiful. He’s never not beautiful. 

“I love you too, numbnuts.” 

Mickey’s tired too. And it’s been a while since he’s gotten to be wrapped up with Ian like this. He falls asleep fast. 

* 

Ian tells him what happened in the morning. 

“What?” Mickey’s whole head goes blank for a moment. Just white noise. And when he comes back to the moment all that’s there is _what_. 

Ian just shrugs and Mickey’s head whirs into gear again. OK so maybe he does need to go back to his dad’s. The least he can do is text Sandy and make sure she brings him a Glock, or maybe an assault rifle? But she’s probably already left. He should have asked yesterday. He was being a bitch about all that playing it safe shit. 

He reaches for his phone anyway and thumbs in a quick message. _bring guns_.

The next place his mind fixates on is Ian’s junk. He tosses the phone away and reaches over to the waistband of Ian’s boxers, checks for assent in Ian’s eyes before sliding his hand in. Ian’s dick still there. Still responsive. Fuck. His balls. Yeah. Still there. 

“Mickey.” 

Mickey breathes a sigh of relief, wraps a possessive hand around Ian’s cock, and feels it stiffen slightly. He looks back up and sees Ian’s staring at him, biting his bottom lip. 

He’s got to get his mouth on it. He starts to drag down Ian’s boxers with his other hand, and Ian shifts to help, while Mickey moves onto all fours, and starts to pull on his cock. 

He climbs onto Ian, inching down so that he can get a good look at it. Everything’s still there. And Mickey’s breathing out in relief again, bending down to check the head still tastes the same. Yeah. It’s good. It’s always good. Ian squirms beneath him. 

“OK?” Mickey asks, pulling away to look at his face again. 

Ian nods. “Yeah. Yeah, Mick. Feels good.”

Mickey twists his hand around Ian’s cock. Grips and tugs. “I better check everything’s still in working order, right?” 

Ian smiles at that. “Nothing happened to my junk, Mick.”

“Mmm. Thank fuck.” Mickey tugs a bit faster and Ian’s breath hitches. “But better check you’re not traumatised or some shit, right? Better check you can still come as hard.” 

“I’m pretty su--” Mickey’s mouth’s already back on him and Ian’s reply just turns into a breathy “Fuck, Mickey.” 

Mickey envelops his cock in his mouth, starts to bob his up and down, while his hand still runs up and down the base. Ian’s hand falls onto his head, gentle for just a moment, before gripping his hair tight. 

Good. Mickey likes that. He concentrates on sealing around Ian’s cock with his lips, increasing the suction, while still moving up and down. A complicated fucking operation. A skill that Mickey loves honing. 

His head’s still a bit hazy though, still a bit caught on _what the fuck_ and he pauses just a moment with his mouth halfway down, breathing through his nose, trying to relax his gag reflex, trying to shift his mind so it’s only _make Ian feel good_. 

Ian’s hand loosens a touch in his hair. “You ok, Mickey?” 

Mickey peels up and off, sloppy. “Can’t fucking get that...” He shakes his head slightly, disbelievingly. His hand tightens instinctively around Ian’s cock. “It’s in my -- ” He stops again. “The fuck, man?” 

Ian grips the back of Mickey’s head. His cock twitches a little in Mickey’s hand despite the pause and the reason for it. Ian lets out a shaky breath. His voice is gentle.

“You want to stop?” 

“No.” Mickey’s quick with his answer. “Fuck no.” 

“So what dyou need?”

Mickey’s hesitant. “I don’t know, man, I just...” 

“You want instructions?”

“Yeah.” Mickey breathes. He feels his own cock stir, his semi start to harden. Yeah that’s exactly what he wants. His hand starts moving again. Ian’s still nice and hard in his grip. 

“OK, Mickey,” and Ian’s voice is still gentle. “Put your mouth around my dick.”

Mickey does as he’s told. He bends down, gets to taste Ian’s cock again, starts to suck again. 

“Good, Mickey. That’s good.” 

Mickey closes his eyes. Ian’s hand grips in his hair again. 

“Go down further Mickey.” 

And Mickey does, loosening the grip of his hand, unhooking his jaw, and bringing his other hand to Ian’s balls, to close gentle and firm around one of them. 

“That’s it Mickey. Good boy.”

 _Fuck_ OK. Mickey’s own cock makes him squirm. He breathes shakily around Ian’s dick. He moves up and down again, feeling Ian’s cock hit the back of his throat this time.

Ian moans suddenly and Mickey regains a little control, pressing up and back down, speeding up, bringing his hand back to the base of Ian’s cock, gripping, twisting, then moving it fast.

Ian’s hips stutter under him and Mickey firms up his mouth, sucks.

“Fuck. Yes Mickey. Like that.” Ian’s breathes in sharp. He pants and then he’s coming, hard as ever, down Mickey’s throat. Mickey can’t help but reach for his own cock now, rub at it through his boxers, wanting to keep up with Ian. Mickey keeps his mouth around him as Ian shakes around him. He tries to look up and just catches Ian’s face blissed out under him. Oh fuck, Ian’s come in his mouth tastes good. Mickey keeps his mouth around Ian’s cock feeling it start to soften. 

“Come here.” Ian says, his voice thick, and Mickey lets Ian’s cock plop out of his mouth, missing it the moment it’s gone. He moves up to Ian, who’s hand is gentle in his hair, and who’s mouth is wet and soft. 

Ian slides his other hand into Mickey’s boxers, batting Mickey’s own hand away.

“Fuck that was good, Mick.” Ian’s voice is gravelly, his lips close to Mickey’s. He strokes slow and firm. Mickey’s breathing hard but he closes their mouths together again and Ian’s hand leaves his cock a moment, grips Mickey’s side, before fuck, he’s turning them both around, and Ian’s heavy on top of him, pushing him down into the mattress. 

“Fuck.” Mickey lets out. Ian’s hand comes back to his cock, gives it another long slow stroke. He hitches one of Mickey’s legs onto his shoulder with his other hand. Mickey’s other leg follows, and Ian pushes his tongue down his throat, and the stroke of his fingers over Mickey’s exposed hole makes Mickey gasp. Ian speeds his pace up on Mickey’s cock and Mickey squeezes his eyes shut. 

He can feel Ian’s eyes on his face. His face must look fucked up. 

“Open your eyes Mick.” And Mickey does, to see Ian push two fingers into his own mouth, then reach them down to Mickey’s ass, both breaching his hole, pushing in up to the knuckle. 

“Ian.” Mickey whines, his legs squeezing around Ian’s shoulders, his eyes squeezing shut again. Then Ian’s mouth’s around the top of his cock, his fingers pushing in a bit further, and Mickey’s coming, first into Ian’s mouth, then into the air, at Ian’s face, then into Ian’s mouth again. 

Mickey opens his eyes to see Ian wiping a hand over his mouth, looking down at him with steady green eyes. 

Mickey breathes. Just stares at him. His legs are turning to jelly, sliding off Ian’s shoulders.

“OK?” Ian asks, because of course he does.

“Mm.” Mickey nods, reaching up for him. “Fuck.” He adds.

“So looks like I can still come as hard, right?” And Mickey’s head gets heavier, remembering what got them started with this. Ian smiles. “Looks like you can too.”

“That wasn’t what we were checking.” Mickey’s hand rolls up Ian’s back. He nuzzles his nose into Ian’s cheek. He grins. Feels Ian’s body readying to laugh and he lets out a breathy chuckle too. “But yeah, OK.” 

* 

Sandy doesn’t bring any guns. Mickey rifles through the limited shit she brought while Ian’s in the shower and asks about the other Milkoviches, testing the water to see if there’s any information on how safe it is for him to go back there. She’s acting a bit weird and Mickey wonders what’s up with her nowadays. She even reaches over to grab Mickey’s dick. He squirms out the way. Maybe he’s just stopped being normalised to Milkovich shit. 

“You know that’s messed up right?” Mickey’s grown the fuck up since then.

“It’s not like we’re related.”

“We are totally related. We’re fucking cousins. And you’re gay.”

“Plus he’s taken.” It’s Ian, fresh from the shower, towel round his waist, immediately distracting Mickey. Ian knows the effect his abs have, the fucker. He’s straight away all up in Mickey’s space and Mickey vaguely wonders if Ian’s actually threatened by Sandy, or maybe just wary as fuck of Milkovich shit and the way Mickey gets tangled up in it.

Mickey’s not fucking complaining. He loves it when Ian offers his soap and other shit, and then to pick Mickey up stuff from Costco. 

He comes over, lightly slaps Mickey’s ass. 

“Isn’t that cute. Little domestic bitches.” 

It is fucking cute. It’s more than fucking cute that they get to have this. And Ian obviously agrees, wrapping an arm round Mickey, squeezing his tit, and pressing a firm kiss into his cheek. 

“Mmm. Thank you.”

They both give Sandy the finger. And Mickey watches Ian go, turning back to raise his eyebrows at Sandy _yeah, that’s my man_. Yeah, Mickey’s grown up a lot since they last were together. 

He’s on parole, there’s a cartel looking for him, and he’s got to sort out this shit for Ian but his life is pretty fucking good.

* 

“Where’s the job then? You want a ride?”

Mickey’s just made it down the stairs and Ian’s having another coffee in the kitchen.

“Nah man, my PO’s gonna pick me up.” Mickey fixes the front of his hair. “It’s a security job at fucking Old Army.”

“Oh really?” And there’s a hint of jealousy there. Ian puts his cup down and picks up a pack of smokes from the table, standing up to go pick up his check. “Sounds like Larry’s pretty nice huh?”

“Yeah whatever.” Mickey breathes. He just needs Ian to keep his head down while Mickey figures out how to fix this. “Just do what the fuck you’re told, hero. This is normal PO shit. They all suck. We just gotta get through parole any way we can, dick and balls in tact. _Thank you._ ” 

Ian rolls his eyes. He comes over and gives Mickey another kiss on the cheek though before heading to the front door. 

“Text me when it’s your lunch break. I can come join?”

“Fuck yeah. You can buy me something good with that pay check.”

Ian gives him a lopsided grin, shutting the door behind him. 

*

He actually works hard at Old Army, even though the uniform they got him in makes him look like a nerd. For a minute Mickey thinks, maybe Seaver’s set him up with an OK deal, maybe it’s good that Sandy didn’t bring him any guns. Maybe the cartel’s forgotten about him. Maybe the stuff with Paula will blow over. Maybe Mickey was right when he said this is normal PO shit. Him and Ian can have lunch together in the mall like everything’s OK. They’ve just got to keep their heads down and get through parole.

At lunch, Ian’s whining about his pay check, and Mickey thinks why is money more important to Ian than his fucking junk? Mickey can get them money. 

He tries to minimise all day, but when Paula gets him to push a guy called Khalifa from the third floor of what looks like a crack den, Mickey gives up.

“You were right. We gotta kill her.” 

Him and Ian smoke together, quietly seething. Mickey’s mind is whirring and he’s sure Ian’s is too. There’s no question now, Mickey’s got to go see his dad. He needs cash, guns, connections. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do yet though. It’s not an easy problem. 

*

He has five smokes in a row before approaching his old home, but when he finally goes in, it’s just Colin and Sandy there, who tell him that Terry’s in the Alibi. So he has to go through the whole damn process of gearing himself up again. Sandy grabs him a beer for the road. 

“Good luck little bro.” 

Mickey gives Colin the finger over his shoulder. He finishes his pack of smokes before he’s reached the bar, taking one last chug from the bottle in his hand and chucking it at the road. 

Terry’s in there with a bunch of Mickey’s uncles and cousins, all swarmed around the pool table, all with beers, some taking turns to snort lines of coke. They barely notice Mickey. If they do, they’re not surprised to see him. Mickey says hi to Vee and orders a shot before going over. 

“The fuck do you want?” 

“Nice to see you too, Pops.” Mickey’s mouth does one of its tics, but otherwise he’s all OK, confident, in control. “Uncle Ronnie. Jerry.” 

Before they can reply his dad’s started again. “Now get this, boys. This fuckup _escapes_ the joint, runs away down to Mexico, and then goes and turns himself back in, rats on some Mexicans, and gets out for overcrowding, what a week ago? The fuck you been? Too scared to see your old man?” 

“OK, OK. I’m here now though aren’t I dad.” 

It’s a relief, even though Terry was sending him jobs in prison, that Terry’s just mad that Mickey’s not been around, selectively forgetting all that other shit. That his dad _wants_ him around. That his dad expected him to be here. It’s always been so weird what his dad is mad at him about. This whole thing feels like going back in time, putting on some old clothes that are a bit too small. 

Everyone else is relieved too. Mickey’s uncles and cousins have all relaxed, as though there’s been a collective breathing out of a breath no one knew they were holding. 

“Why you been hiding away Mickey?” Jerry asks. 

“Fucking cartel wants to jump me for snitching.” 

“You coming on this run tonight?” Uncle Ronnie asks. 

Mickey licks his lips. “Yeah. Sure. What you need?”

His dad laughs harshly. “That pussy’s not helping with anything. Last I heard, he’s too busy being a little fag.” 

Mickey freezes. Air floods his brain. 

His dad laughs again. “You should see your face. I’m just joking around.” He turns to Uncle Jerry, who’s also smiling. “Can’t take a fucking joke. You’re still a pussy though.” 

Mickey breathes out again, just about coming back to himself. “I’m not a fucking pussy, Pops.”

“Oh yeah? Not a pussy he says?” His dad shuffles around to line up some of the coke on the pool table. “Have a fucking line then to celebrate being out.” 

Mickey only hesitates for a second, before he’s snorting the line. He sees Seaver’s face in his mind wincing as he does it. Larry doesn’t get shit. 

Mickey’s uncles and cousins and his dad cheer. 

OK, so it’s like putting on old clothes, but they kind of still fit after all. Mickey finds himself smiling, pushing down that weird raw hopefulness that always makes him feel like a pussy. And there’s some squirming feeling hard to ignore in the pit of his stomach. As the Milkoviches lose interest in him, Mickey turns to the bar to get some scotch to chase it away. 

Lip of all people is staring at him from a barstool. Mickey pointedly doesn’t look at him, gesturing at Vee. 

“The fuck you doing here, twelve steps?” 

He can hear Lip chuckle softly next to him as if he knows Mickey’s being defensive because he’s been caught out. Mickey hasn’t been caught doing anything. He can do what the fuck he wants. 

“Another one, Mickey?” Vee asks. And Mickey swears to himself as Lip chuckles harder. 

“Please.” He tells Vee, focusing on her as she smoothly prepares the drink and places it in front of Mickey with raised eyebrows. 

“Terry’s not gonna change, you know.” Lip says. 

“What.”

“He’s not going to suddenly accept you.”

“The fuck? When did I say that’s what I wanted to happen?”

“Come on Mickey. That’s what every kid wants.” 

Mickey downs the shot. He wants another one but Vee’s chatting to Kermit now. He feels that squirm in his stomach even harder than he did before. Mickey’s hyperaware of Terry’s presence, somewhere near the back of the bar, near the pool table, nowhere near close enough to hear this shit. But there nonetheless. Behind him. He doesn’t want to turn and check exactly where because that would be giving in to something, admitting he’s a pussy, some shit that like. He glances at Lip again finally, who’s just quiet. Watching Mickey. 

“You want that shit with Frank?”

Lip shoots him a knowing side smile. “When I was a little kid, yeah.” 

“So what am I -- Angelica Pickles?”

“Your go to is Angelica? Seriously?”

Mickey gives him a hard smile and the finger. 

“Yeah ok, daddy issues, fuck out of my business.”

Lip scoffs but Kev appears from out the back holding one of his kids and Lip’s son in his arms, and Lip’s attention turns to them. “Hey buddy! You having a good time with Gemma? Thanks for watching him, man.” 

While they chat, Vee clears Mickey’s glass. 

“You sure you want another?” She asks warily, her own eyes glinting over to the back of the bar. Where Terry is. That squirming feeling. “Is this really celebrating being out?” 

“Mickey!” Kev interrupts and grips Mickey’s shoulder with his newly freed arm. “Great to see you man.” 

“Hey.” Mickey acknowledges, pulling himself free and licking his lips. There’s too much fucking action now. He can’t deal with being touched and doesn’t want to draw attention. “Yeah, give me another.” 

Vee rolls her eyes and turns back to get the bottle. 

Lip’s quiet next to him though, bouncing Freddie up and down. “So... it’s cool to mention to Ian that you and Terry are doing blow together or…” 

Mickey knows Lip’s trying to goad him. He shakes it off easily.

“Whatever man. Do what the fuck you want.” 

Mickey can’t tell from the look in Lip’s eye whether he’s going to actually rat on him. It’s not his usual self-satisfied smile. Just something knowing. Something a bit like pity. 

Mickey downs his third shot, finally tearing his gaze back to where his dad and cousins are. Him and Ian need the money and the connections so fuck Lip anyway. 

*

Mickey doesn’t see Ian until much later when the drugs have pretty much worn out. Mickey’s feeling quieter now, he’s still a bit agitated though, he’s thirsty. He wants to feel how soft Ian’s t-shirt is, wipe his cheek and nose on Ian’s shoulder while Ian’s pouring milk on his nighttime cereal.

“That better not be your dinner, man,” he says instead, and Ian’s shoulders relax before he turns around to Mickey, leans back on the counter. He looks half asleep in his boxers and socks. 

“Where you been?” he asks softly. 

“Nowhere,” Mickey says, almost as soft, giving up and going to him, folding the hem of Ian’s shirt between his fingers. He can feel Ian’s eyes on him as Mickey focuses on the pale greenish blue of the fabric against his fingers. 

“Jesus, Mick.” Ian puts the bowl on the counter and his hand presses against Mickey’s chest. “Your heart’s fast”

Mickey sniffs and then Ian clocks him, lifts his chin to check his eyes. “You on coke?”

Mickey averts his gaze and shrugs. Fuck Ian’s good at that. Like a human sniffer dog. Southside and Boystown and EMT training and expertise in Mickey. 

“The fuck, Mickey?” He’s not yelling. He sounds tired if anything, picking up the bowl again, and spooning a mouthful. “You even had your first UA?”

“Relax.” Mickey’s hand travels up Ian’s side, finds its groove on Ian’s neck “Paula’s not going to give a shit.” 

He strokes up to the back of Ian’s head, to move against the grain of the short hair at the nape of his neck, to tug at Ian’s hair a little higher. 

Ian frowns and shakes his head, loosening Mickey’s grip. “After that shit she pulled I’m not going to fucking relax. And you don’t fucking know, you might get swapped back again to Larry.” 

“Ian,” Mickey starts again, trying to draw his attention back to the present moment, to Mickey’s hands and eyes on him, for him.

Ian stares at him, eyes wide. “I don’t want you to go back to prison, Mick.”

Mickey swallows, looks down. He doesn’t know what to say. He tongues at his sore tooth. He didn’t want to risk this shit either. He never wants to risk this beautiful thing they have. He doesn’t know why he did it now, why he slipped into some older version of himself. 

Ian sighs softly, pushes Mickey away a fraction, spoons at his cornflakes for a second, before putting the bowl in the sink, half-eaten.

He gazes at Mickey’s face, and his fingers come up to wipe over where Mickey hit his head jumping out of the bus on his way back from prison. Ian’s eyes are glassy, kind of intense. And it might be the liquor or the drugs but Mickey finds his own eyes getting glassy too. 

“No one gets to hurt you anymore Mickey. Not Paula, not Terry, not anyone. I won’t let them.”

Mickey blinks. Ian’s staring at him. 

“OK, killer. You can sort them out for me.” 

Ian laughs at that. 

“OK. Come on.” Ian pours them both a glass of water then heads up the stairs and Mickey follows. Ian goes into the bathroom and Mickey hovers by the door, while Ian rifles through the cabinet. Mickey can still feel the healing sting from the wound on his forehead that Ian patched up in here last week. 

Ian pulls out a few of his orange pill bottles, and gestures Mickey over with one of them until he takes it. “Thought Frank might’ve taken it but we’re good.”

Mickey sniffs and reads the label. It’s valium. It’s pretty sweet of his boyfriend, thinking of his come down. 

“I barely took any blow.” Mickey protests anyway, already popping the bottle open. 

Ian leans back and kisses him on the cheek before collecting his own cocktail of pills in the palm of his hand. 

Mickey just watches, transfixed by him again. The way Ian looks after them both, thinks about the future. The way Ian cares for Mickey. The way he looks out for him. Doesn’t want bad things for him. Wants to protect him from all the shit that they’d thought was normal growing up. Wants them to have a better life. 

“I won’t take any more while I’m on probation.” 

It’s not even much of a promise but Ian looks at Mickey over the glass on his lips. Swallows. His eyes soften. He leans over and kisses Mickey on the cheek again. 

Mickey pops his own pill. 

As he strips off to sleep he can still feel Ian’s kisses on his cheek. Both of them. Burning new memories into his skin. 

*

Mickey’s holding it. It’s soft and it has a heartbeat. It’s nestling in his palm. He fights the urge to close his fingers like a cage around it. He’s got to look after this. This soft thing in his hands. 

He breathes. 

He’s in the bathroom at the Alibi. He knows where he needs to go. He knows what he wants to do with it. The person he wants to take it to. 

The pool cues are lined up like crosses blocking his way to the door, but so fucking what. Mickey kicks at them, shielding the soft thing in his arms, near his chest. Holding it gently. Not too tight. He won’t hold it too tight. And the cues fracture, they bend, they melt away. And Mickey won’t close his fingers around it. 

There’s someone chatting through the door but it doesn’t matter. Saying something like

 _Can’t take a fucking joke._

It doesn’t matter. Mickey kicks the bottles of pills out the way and opens the door, and _fuck_. He’s met by a rain of bullets and he dives under a table for cover, keeping it underneath him, trying not to squash it. He’s sweating and he aches, and his fingers, they slip, they tighten. He can feel the soft thing sharpen again. No. It can’t. It’s not what he wants. 

_That’s what every kid wants._

“Fuck you!”

Mickey spills over again, almost off the side of the bed. There’s an arm keeping him in it. Braced. Holding him. It tenses and then relaxes again. 

“Hey.” Ian says, soft. 

“Shit.” Mickey breathes. “Time is it?” 

Ian shuffles a little behind him. His arm moves across Mickey’s chest. “Probably early.” 

“Not gonna check?” 

“Busy.” Ian’s arm is firm on Mickey’s chest, moving slowly, and Mickey notices his own arms are shaking slightly. He wants to grip hold of Ian’s hand so he does. Ian kisses him on the shoulder. And then again. And then a third time, leaving his nose and mouth and jaw there to breathe Mickey in, deep. 

Mickey feels his body relaxing. He breathes. He closes his eyes. 

“So…” Ian starts just as Mickey’s dropping off again. “Last night?” 

Mickey swallows. He lets go Ian’s hand. 

“You’ve not had a dream like that in a while Mick.” 

Mickey scoffs. “So?” 

He wants a smoke already. He’s lost if Ian’s talking about him coming home late or the dream or both. Ian just goes back to rubbing his hand across Mickey’s chest. 

Besides, Ian didn’t know what went down after he got out and Mickey was left in the joint. 

But the more Ian strokes against his chest and breathes in his neck the more Mickey wants to be real with him, to let him in. He sighs. “I was with my dad.” 

Ian’s hand stops. It’s quiet. Too quiet for the Gallagher house. 

“Why?” His voice is quiet. And Ian sounds more tired than when he first woke up, and Mickey just sighs, remembering last night in the kitchen, remembering Ian’s soft shirt and his boxers and socks and cereal and _I don’t want you to go back to prison, Mick_. He wonders if Ian suspected Mickey was with his dad anyway. If he was just waiting for Mickey to tell him. 

“I had to sort out some shit.” And it’s vague but it’s true. At least Mickey has some guns now. The promise of some cash. He turns in Ian’s arms. 

Ian’s staring at him and Mickey reaches up to stroke his jaw. He wonders if Ian will let Mickey kiss him now, or if he’s too mad, or too concerned, or however the fuck Ian gets. He glances down at Ian’s lips for permission, and Ian just nods, allows it, and Mickey kisses him until he gets sick of the morning breath, and moves down Ian’s body, says sorry with his wet mouth on the skin between Ian’s neck and collar bone. 

Ian’s quiet. Thinking too hard. Eventually he talks. “You want to go out for breakfast?” 

Mickey grins into his neck. 

*

 _Mr Milkovich, I’m so sorry to hear the news about Paula. You must be very shaken up. Firstly, I’d like to assure you that you are back on my roster and that we will proceed as per normal. Secondly, please don’t take being called in for questioning by the police personally. They are questioning all of Paula’s parolees and I am sure that you have nothing to worry about there. I’ll keep you up to date as best I can as the case advances. Please please don’t hesitate to contact me with any issues, questions or (totally understandable) anxieties you might be feeling. As ever, I’m on your side – Larry._

Mickey leaves the message on read and takes another sip of the beer Sandy gave him. He’s never been so grateful to have her around. His cousins have stopped chatting about spousal privilege and his dad’s started chatting about smuggling Mickey up to Canada again. Running is the last thing on Mickey’s mind. Terry’s earlier words are still going through it though. _You marry someone with a cock, I will bludgeon you to death in your sleep._ Is he fucking serious? Mickey can’t tell anymore. His phone lights up again. 

_Meet me at Patsy’s for lunch? 12.30?_

He types out a quick response. 

_Sure_

Whatever the fuck happened, Mickey has to protect him.

*

“Hey.”

“Hey. Thanks for meeting me.” 

“Yeah sure thing, Formal.” Mickey eyes Ian suspiciously as he picks up the menu, suddenly very nervous, “Let’s order, I’m fucking starving.” 

Ian’s got his hand on his cheek, watching. Is he going to open up about Paula or what? 

“You uh get your new PO assignment? I’m back with Larry fucking Seaver—”

“I think we should get married.” 

Mickey’s heart pounds. 

“What?” 

“We should get married.” Ian’s a little less nervous now. “Then we can’t testify against each other in a court of law, you know, in case one of us uh, had something on the other. It’s called spousal privilege.” 

Mickey looks down and away, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah. I uh heard of it.” 

“It’s for both of our protection.” Ian’s firm now. “You know just help us keep things clean. Just help us tow the line a little bit. So what are you thinking?” 

“I think staying outta jail’s a crap reason to get married.” 

“No, we fucking love each other that’s why we’re gonna get married. The legal stuff is just a bonus.” 

Mickey scratches his forehead. He hadn’t really thought seriously about marriage, marrying Ian. Back in the day he’d kind of considered them ghetto married anyway. Wasn’t the whole piece of paper shit for rich gays and straight people? OK fine, marriage might have flashed through his mind once or twice but he squashed it down. It wasn’t something he’d let himself consider properly. Everything was always way too volatile between them. And marriage (to someone you wanted to marry) always seemed like something that other people got to have, not for Mickey.

He knew that Ian cared about it a long time ago. But shit had changed so much since then. Their whole dynamic had changed. 

Hadn’t Ian said something about it in prison though too? And when Mickey’s cousins were talking about spousal privilege and even when his dad was kicking off about it earlier, Mickey thought they were chatting bullshit but… there’d been a soft ache in his chest, like… 

“This is marriage though man. It’s kind of a big step don’t you think?” 

“I love you.” Ian holds Mickey’s gaze. “And I trust you.” 

Marrying Ian. Fuck. It seemed too good to be real. Committing to being together for the rest of their lives. 

And Ian actually wanted Mickey? Wanted Mikhailo Milkovich. For that. 

Ian reaches forward and holds out his hand for Mickey to take. “Do you love and trust me too?”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey takes it. 

“OK. So maybe this decision isn’t that hard.” 

“Jesus Christ. You proposing to me over fucking patty melts?”

“Yeah I guess I am.” Ian smiles at him. “So what do you say you want to fit it in?” 

And Mickey does. He wants it with a sudden ferocity that even he’s surprised by. He wants it so fucking bad. Maybe he’s always wanted it this hard, he just never let himself admit it. He feels calm though. He feels certain. 

“Fuck it. I do.” 

*

They shower and get changed first. They almost bang but they decide to wait until after. Once they got the papers. 

Mickey puts on a denim button up. He’s getting married to Ian and Mickey feels like he’s flying, like there’s nothing he can’t do, like there’s nothing they can’t be. 

Paula’s dead, he’s living at the Gallaghers, he’s getting married to Ian, and maybe, fucking maybe, he’ll reply to Larry, say _I’m changing my last name_ , why the fuck not?, stop talking to his dad, work hard at his fucking security job in his nerdy lilac uniform, fuck Ian every night, and in the morning too, and in the afternoons, look after him, let Ian look after Mickey too, do dumb shit together, do everything together, be a family, get through parole, go on family vacations or whatever families do, stay out of prison, even fuck it quit fucking smoking and live forever, grow old with Ian, look after Ian (he’s already listed that one but fuck it again), let Ian love him, show Ian how much Mickey loves him again and again and again and again, look after Ian, look after Ian, look after Ian. 

They can’t get Ian for this Paula shit can they? Mickey won’t let them. He would never testify against him anyway but forget that bullshit. 

He tidies up his hair. It looks good. He feels good. He feels _respectable_ even. He’s nervous, but so is Ian, getting changed next to him. Coming over to reassure the pair of them with kisses. 

Ian drives, even though they have to park a while away from City Hall and walk. And when they’re in the waiting room, Ian kisses him again, cups Mickey’s jaw, and Mickey chases his mouth as he breaks it off, scans his face, his lips, his eyes, his jaw, his red hair.

Larry messages him again. 

_Mickey. You NEED to see this._

And there’s a link. No “Mr Milkovich” even… Mickey clicks it. 

**Author's Note:**

> So -- looks like this is going to be a three part series, not two. Sorry for leaving it there. I know shit's about to go down, but wanted to end with a bit of hope. The last part will be entirely sex and fluff (joking) (kinda). 
> 
> I'm not v active on tumblr but if anyone wants to come hassle me (I'll be into it) I'm https://boysnight.tumblr.com/.


End file.
